


bring the morning sun and let it spill

by sunlightlover



Category: Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware, Half-Life
Genre: Chronic Pain, Dissociation, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, assume if I write anything about Gordon that he's trans, only referencing very old sh scars, the science team has been looking at Gordon for weeks now like hey I don't think he's okay...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24795664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunlightlover/pseuds/sunlightlover
Summary: It's been a couple months since Black Mesa, and Gordon is a functional human being. He holds down a house, takes care of his kid, remembers to eat every day, and even talks to the other members of the Science Team. Gordon's doing just fine, really.
Relationships: Tommy Coolatta/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 9
Kudos: 208





	bring the morning sun and let it spill

Joshua’s at preschool, just three blocks over next to his neighborhood’s public park. Gordon remembers walking there this morning, holding hands with Joshua as he points at all the little things he notices with childish curiosity. It’s his second favorite part of the day, right behind picking Joshua up from school and seeing him run all excited and like every time Gordon is waiting for him is surprising in a good way. 

Gordon’s still got… he checks the time; quite a few hours until Joshua needs him. He checks the chorelist on the fridge again. He’s already crossed off vacuuming and the dishes, so he starts gathering laundry. 

After sweeping through the bathroom and Joshua’s room, Gordon sets his basket down in his own bedroom to grab the clothes he’s left in his hamper and, admittedly, a few scattered on the floor. Can’t win ‘em all.

Sitting on the bed for a moment, he feels the ache of his body. He’s tired, but that’s pretty much his standard state of being nowadays. The medications he takes twice a day help well enough. He’s functional, takes care of a house, gets his kid to school and back every day, and still talks to the other members of the Science Team.

Some days, though, the pain is almost too much, but he’s got Joshua to think of and no space in his life to break down over something like that. He always manages through it anyway. Not like it’s any worse than the scraps he got into in Black Mesa either, but at least he has the scars to prove it happened.

Gordon likes the look of most of his scars, and on better days he’d say they make him look interesting. Likes the way they’re just him, through and through, like an eye color. Can’t change ‘em now that he’s got ‘em. Can’t really hide his scars either, unless he wants to walk around like he did all through high school and then some, all covered up from his shoulders to his ankles. There’s no way he’s gonna go through that again, even if he isn’t in Seattle humidity anymore. 

For now, he’s conceded to pinning his sleeves over the end of his arm when he goes to any kind of school function, anxious about presenting the best face for his kid. His stump is an ugly looking mess of sensitive scar tissue and a hack job in more ways than one, he thinks sardonically. It’s not even that he hates how it looks, just what it means to him and everyone else.

He runs his hand over the scars on his shoulder instead, the bumpy and uneven texture soothing in its own way. Thinks about how the burns on his shoulder feel rough, not like the ones on his forearm do. 

Distantly, he realizes how exhausted he is. 

Gordon’s surprised at the weight sitting next to him on the bed. He feels like he’s in a dream when he turns to look at Tommy. 

Oh. Why would Tommy be here? No, he invited him over. Of course. His eyes wander to the clock next to the bed, realizes that he’s been sitting here for a few hours.

Tommy is saying something. He focuses on that, catches the tail end of a sentence he immediately forgets. Tommy looks at him like he's worried about something. He should've been paying attention. 

"Mr. Freeman?" Tommy asks quietly.

"Yeah?" Gordon gets out after a pause, already tired from the effort of speaking.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think you're doing very well right now." Tommy glances away, breathes in deep, and lets it out.

He looks Gordon in the eyes again. "You need help and I, I, I can't help you with this. Um. Therapy has really helped me, especially after the whole thing with Black Mesa, and maybe, maybe it can help you. I think you should try it."

Oh. Gordon thinks about that. Maybe. Maybe he should. The thought of how to even explain it all… he looks at the floor, lost again.

Someone grabs his arm and he jerks back, his eyes stuttering over Tommy's face before latching onto his familiar features. Right.

"Gordon?"

He doesn't remember Tommy calling him by his first name very often. Gordon wishes he did. Realizes Tommy is still looking at him for an answer.

"I don't… Maybe. I don't know." He mumbles.

"Can you think about it? Later, I mean, you really, you don't have to now." Tommy encourages, squeezing Gordon's shoulder.

“I can,” He says, distracted by how Tommy’s hand is warm on his arm. It’s nice, having someone else touch him casually. Gordon is a naturally touchy guy, but he still keeps to simple pats on the shoulder for the most part. 

Gordon doesn’t think when he puts his hand over Tommy’s, just acts on the impulse. There’s a sudden heat in his face as Tommy turns his hand over to tug their hands between their laps. It’s comforting in a way he hasn’t felt in a long while. He doesn’t look at Tommy as he leans against his side, relishing in the contact.

Maybe he can look into getting help another day. For now, he's okay in this moment.


End file.
